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Of all the paths [that] lead to a woman's love Pity's the straightest.

Francis Beaumont

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Francis Beaumont
Age: 31 †
Born: 1584
Born: January 1
Died: 1615
Died: March 6
Actor
Dramatist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Leicestershire
England
Francis Beaumont the Younger
Path
Woman
Love
Companionship
Paths
Pity
Lead

More quotes by Francis Beaumont

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Nose, nose, jolly red nose,And who gave thee that jolly red nose?Nutmegs and ginger, cinammon and clovesAnd they gave me this jolly red nose.
Francis Beaumont
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Honor's a thing too subtle for wisdom if honor lie in eating, he's right honorable.
Francis Beaumont
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The true way to gain much is never to desire to gain too much.
Francis Beaumont
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But what is past my help is past my care.
Francis Beaumont
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Bad's the best of us.
Francis Beaumont
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The greatest attribute of Heaven is mercy.
Francis Beaumont
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Who doubting tyranny, and fainting under Fortune's false lottery, desperately run To death, for dread of death that soul's most stout, That, bearing all mischance, dares last it out.
Francis Beaumont
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Those have most power to hurt us, that we love.
Francis Beaumont
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It is a word that's quickly spoken, which being unrestrained, a heart is broken
Francis Beaumont
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My virginity, that from my childhood kept me company, is heavier than I can endure to bear. Forgive me, Cupid, for thou art god, and I a wretched creature: I have sinn'd but be thou merciful, and grant that yet I may enjoy what thou wilt have me love!
Francis Beaumont
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Envy, like the worm, never runs but to the fairest fruit like a cunning bloodhound, it singles out the fattest deer in the flock.
Francis Beaumont
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All confidence which is not absolute and entire, is dangerous. There are few occasions but where a man ought either to say all, or conceal all for, how little so ever you have revealed of your secret to a friend, you have already said too much if you think it not safe to make him privy to all particulars.
Francis Beaumont
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There is a method in man's wickedness it grows up by degrees.
Francis Beaumont
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You are no better than you should be.
Francis Beaumont
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Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true, Primrose, first born child of Ver, Merry Spring-time's harbinger.
Francis Beaumont
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Kiss till the cow comes home.
Francis Beaumont
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Grace comes often clad in the dusky robe of desolation.
Francis Beaumont